


Rad Bromance

by AlphaStarr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (or shall I say "brondage"), All the bro puns all of them, Anal Sex, Bondage, Depends on how much bropunning you can handle, Fluff, Gags, M/M, Or get one, Oral Sex, Warning: May cause you to lose your broner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk and Jake attempt to have sex. Jake is put off by bro puns.</p>
<p>This is DirkJake PWP. Literally, 4400 words of nothing but DirkJake smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rad Bromance

**Author's Note:**

> I blame HSO's Team DirkJake (AKA Team Broback Mountain). They are legitimately the best. Good ship, best team. <3

You are JAKE ENGLISH, and right now you are currently occupied making out with your best bro-cum-boyfriend, DIRK STRIDER. You are both more than just mildly TIPSY-- the result of a PARTY held by one Miss Lalonde-- but you are more than oriented enough to engage in the ACTS OF DEBAUCHERY that await when you arrive at your APARTMENT.

Although, by the way that Dirk is groping under your shirt (oh great galloping ghosts, did he just tweak your nipple?), you aren't even completely certain you'll make it that far.

His tongue swipes over the line between your lips, slightly favoring the bottom one. He tastes like rum and coke (you aren't quite sure how many he had), and something ludicrously fruity that he drank ironically. You aren't exactly sure what. You barely remember to kiss back in your lustful haze, lips pressing together as your tongues brush each other in strife.

One of his legs is in between yours, and one of yours is tangled up between his; it's not exactly easy to move, especially not with the way the cargo material of your pants is just thin enough for you to feel his hardness through your trousers. Still, the two of you manage to stumble out of the elevator and trip blindly down the hall to your apartment door.

Strider sucks at your bottom lip as he rummages in your back pocket, looking for your apartment keys. You groan quietly into his mouth, the sound almost completely muffled to any possible onlookers, but still audible to Dirk (who, you realize, is the only person who needs to hear it). He comes up with them and unlocks the entrance to your apartment, the door creaking quietly as his hand slides back down to your rump and squeezes, massaging the firm flesh.

You moan out an embarrassingly sudden “Guhhh!”

“Bedroom?” he mumbles, trying to speak through the kiss. At least, you think that's what he said; you can't hear him very well when his lips are so thoroughly occupied with yours.

You reply with an affirmative “Mmmnph!”

The next thing you know, your back is pressed to the bed and Dirk Strider is pushing your naked shoulders (where did your shirt go? did you even wear a shirt?) into the sheets. Good golly-- it's times like these when you really love that flashstepping thing he does.

“So, Jake,” he says, and God's green garterbelt, you think you can hear his accent. You really, really love accents and Dirk's slight Southern twang gets your goose every time. “What're you up to doing tonight?”

“Wha- what do you mean?” you gasp, because holy FUCK he just put his mouth on your ear and it ought to be DOWNRIGHT ILLEGAL to do that with your tongue. “How far do you want...”

“I was hopin' to have you tied to the headbroard,” he drawls, and you think he might be more drunk than you thought he was. He's stumbling over his words, which is a thing he does next to never-- everything he says is usually clearly pronounced. “I'm in the mood for brondage, if that's all right with you.”

Wait...

Something is more than a little off about what he's saying. You're a little too drunk to tell, though, or even really care. You pull him down for a kiss, and he unbuttons your pant, hooking two of the fingers on his left hand just over the elastic of your boxer-briefs, pressing them against your bare skin. The noise you make is throttled by his tongue, which is mapping out the intricacies of your mouth.

You break off the kiss for air-- a difficult endeavor, as Dirk seems particularly reluctant to leave your mouth-- and pant out, “All right.”

The hand that was teasing your waistline leaves, and he uses it to remove his shades. No matter how many times you see them, the electric orange of his eyes always gets you-- maybe it's the way the bright citrine stands out in the darkness of your bedroom at three AM, maybe it's the sheer intensity behind his gaze as he never breaks eye contact with you, even as he reaches over to the nightstand to withdraw lubricant and basically upend your “toy box” over the bed. Maybe it's both.

He binds your wrists to the headboard, guiding them to the part of it that's smooth enough not to chafe too badly, yet slim enough for the silk ribbon to fit around. It's admittedly not the most sturdy bondage material, but the feeling of smooth fabric around your wrists _really_ gets you off.

Normally, you would fight back for fisticuffs sake, acting like a wild stallion until Dirk reigned you in with his silken lasso, but the alcohol has made you just this side of sluggish.

“You seem especially tame tonight,” he practically purrs as he strokes your bare chest with a couple knuckles. “Now, I wouldn't wanna shock ya too bad with what I'm about to do. D'ya wanna hear what I'm gonna do?”

Oh, man. He's never laid the accent on that thick before. Your cock gives an interested twitch at the drawling twang of his voice and GOLLY FUCKING GOSH you wish he would keep talking.

Breathily, you moan, “Y-yes!”

Dirk's legs are straddling your waist as he kisses your face and does that _thing_ with his tongue and your ear before he murmurs, “Sure thing, sweet'eart. First, I'm gonna strip you of your cargbro shorts and broxers, inchin' 'em down yer hips like a slowbro.”

Wait. What.

He presses a kiss to your lips, one that you easily return, before breaking it off and continuing, “Then I'm gonna line up our broners and broscillate our hips together until I have you panting and broaning under me.”

You suddenly realize what, exactly, Dirk is doing, “No, Dirk, I--”

His hand reaches down to palm your dick through your shorts and you cut yourself off with a guttural staccato of a moan.

“Next, I'll lick my way down your chest and abs,” he whispers into your neck, his fingers plotting the path he plans to take. “I'll make my way down to your cock, lap at your balls for a while, and then give you a nice, long, bro job.”

You are groaning for an entirely different reason, and your hands would be covering your face if they weren't tied up. You make do with your elbows and complain, “Oh my God, Dirk, no.”

“What's the matter, English?” he chortles against your collarbrone (gadzooks, he's got you doing it now, too) in a way that implies he knows exactly what he's doing. “Can't handle the heat? I know I'm gonna brock your world like Broseidon swings the brocean, but there's no way you're that close already. It just ain't brossible.”

“Stop, Strider. Just stop,” you're certain your face is bright red, and you're quite possibly more flustered than ever. You don't know whether to be amused or aroused between his silly bro puns and his deep, throbbing Southern accent. You are biting your lip to prevent yourself from laughing or crying. You aren't even sure which one is more likely by this point.

“Stop? Isn't that a bit of an abropt command?” he smirks as he begins to caress your thighs. “Especially since I haven't yet told you about how I'm gonna lick your sweet li'l assbrole while I jerk you broff. It's going to be a pretty damn broductive night.”

“Holy tweedshitting twain, Dirk,” you pant, your hips already thrusting upwards in search of friction. Strider, that dickprince douche, has his hips just out of your reach. “How fucking drunk _are_ you?”

“That's a question I should be askin' you, 'specially if you didn't even remember that I was designated driver,” Dirk's eyebrow is raised in inquiry. “I only had a rum an' coke at the beginnin' of the night and then a fuckload of virgin daiquiris. In fact, you could say I'm completely... _brober_.”

“Jesus Christmas, I--” you sigh with resignation. “I just give up. Continue, please.”

“Nice to see you've come to your senses, bromine,” Dirk's smile presses against your cheek, and okay, you'll endure a few horrible bro puns if it makes him this happy. “I supbrose I should brobably start makin' good on my bromises, shouldn't I?”

You chuckle at him and squirm in your bindings as he wiggles your pants and underwear over your bum and hips, “That would be much appreciated.”

His mouth is on your chest, then, licking languidly over your left pectoral and lingering at your nipple. He presses a kiss to the spot above your heart before mumbling, “After I finish tonguing you bropen, I'm gonna put a motherfucking dildbro all up in that shit. The broval one that ya like so much. How's that sound?”

“Hell. Fucking. Yes,” you pant out, ducking your head to press a kiss to the top of his. You'd like to run your hands through his hair, but you can't, and it makes you feel deliciously trapped.

He rolls your right nipple in between the tips of his fingers as he maps out a trail of hot, moist breath and warm saliva over your abdomen, dipping into your navel on the way down. He's not straddling you anymore, as that stance would be highly inconvenient for what he's about to do. Dirk is, instead, leaning down in between your spread legs, taking your balls his hot, wet mouth. He sucks gently on one of them, and you shudder with the vibe of pleasure that he sends through you.

“That feel good, Jake?” he asks, backing off for just a second. “Are you enjoyin' this? Havin' me brolling yer balls in my mouth? Brondling them with my tongue?”

“I- I think,” you gasp. “I need... a browel?”

Strider's mouth leaves your genitals entirely as he fumbles for a towel in the mess of stuff you have on your bed. You smile sheepishly at him, but he just brushes a drop of sweat off your face with the back of his hand. He graciously wipes off your sweaty face for you, then kisses it and returns to worshiping your gonads, this time taking the tip of your cock into his mouth.

The bumpy-slimy texture of his tongue moistens the slit of your dick and the soft, damp walls of his cheeks caress the place where your foreskin parts to reveal the head. He leaves it to cool in the air-- and action that makes you groan at the loss and shudder-- to languidly lick all down the sides of your erection. Then, he returns his mouth to the tip and great balls of fire he _sucks_.

You emit a quiet cry. He's really, really good at this.

Dirk takes his hands off you for just a second to remove all of his clothing (literally _all_ of it-- fucking flashstepping) before his hands fall to your ass and begin groping it as he blows you. His hands knead and massage the flesh of your rear, and his thumb occasionally brushes over your entrance.

You think it might be you making those horrifically embarrassing whining sounds. It definitely isn't Strider, whose mouth is frankly far too occupied with your cock to make much of any sound, but good golly. You certainly hope it isn't you, because if it is, you sound like a gosh darned bitch in heat.

He encourages you to spread your legs further apart so he can get at your entrance, pressing his swollen lips to the puckered hole. One of his hands leaves your rump to get a handle on your erection, and he begins to stroke it in time with the licks he is bestowing on your anus. It's all so fucking synchronized, and your moan comes out so strangled that you almost wish your arms were free enough for you to cover your mouth.

Thank the heavens that be for Strider's turntable propensity, because devilfucking dickens, he's playing you like a record. You'd like to return the favor, but quite frankly, you aren't oriented enough to do something like this, even when you're completely sober. You settle for mumbling absolute gibberish in gratitude, most of which sounds like his name, while thrusting your hips into his hands and face.

Dirk takes half a second to switch the positioning of his mouth and hand (when did he even get the lube-- oh, never mind, you give up), inserting a finger into your passage. It's perhaps a little uncomfortable, as is the norm, but you know that feeling will basically cancel itself out when he finds that _spot_. Then, he does, pressing up against the happy button inside you, and you feel the pressure building up in your lower belly begin to push against your sanity and holy fuck you aren't even making any sense in your own motherfucking head anymore.

You do your best to warn him, but you only get out a stuttered “I- I, Dirk...!”

Strider, that beautiful manipulative glorious bastard probably had this planned, because he's prepared for it, that goddamn fuckass, and ingests your release like he was expecting it at any moment (which he probably was), and sucks you dry before he takes his mouth off your flaccid cock, releasing it with a quiet pop.

“S-sorry,” you apologize, trying to catch your breath. You seem to be stuttering more than usual, but you suppose it's just a side effect of being inebriated and banged by your lover at the same time. It's either that, or you're starting to get aroused again by the fact that holy harping hogmagundy, he _swallowed_. That is a thing you will probably never get over.

“Hey, it's no broblem,” he leans up to kiss you, and you can literally taste yourself on him-- unless making bro puns literally leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and wow how drunk do you even have to BE to think that?

“I know you appreciate it when I swall _bro_ ,” Dirk gives you a smirk and wiggles his eyebrows.

“You dork,” you laugh, tugging at your binds. “Now let me down from here so I can help you with your... well, you know.”

“My spam bropoise?” he has just one eye raised at you now, evidently amused by your unwillingness to just say it out loud. “My discbro stick?”

“Yes, fine,” you nudge him with your elbow. “Now let me out of these things so I can get you an express ticket out of Broner City.”

“I think I like you where you are,” the other side of Strider's mouth twitches upwards.

“STRIIIIIIIIDER!”

“All right, fine, don't get your nonexistent panties in a twist,” Dirk unties your bindings and you rub at your wrists to reinstate circulation. Sometimes you think he's the one with a Prankster's Gambit... except he'd probably call it something like the Ironymeter. You shake your head. How much did you even drink?

You shove Strider onto his back as soon as you can feel your arms completely again. You need to take your revenge on him for his horrible, amusing, stupid, adorable, distracting, boner-killing bro puns, because gosh damn it! He's being a sassy, smug bastard about his dumb jokes, and god you just wish he'd shut up.

“Trying to make a show of _brominance_ , Jake?” the upward quirk of his mouth frustrates you so fucking much.

“Shut up, you douche,” you hiss at him, thoroughly irritated that you can't quite enjoy his extremely sexy, extremely rare smirk because of motherfucking _bro puns_ , of all things. You begin rummaging through the pile of sex toys on your bed, searching for one in particular.

“Hey, I wasn't brotesting against anything,” he replies, and you drop a hard kiss on his mouth. You can't concentrate when he's trying to distract you with horrible, horrible, hilarious puns. You have never been more happy when your fingers finally clasp around the object that you were looking for. Score one, Team English.

His hands are ~~broping~~ groping at your butt, kneading your plush, tanned rump as you gently tease his mouth open with your tongue. The entire situation is all exceedingly stimulating, and now that he isn't making terrible puns left and right, you find yourself getting aroused again. Thanks to the way you're sitting on him, your half-hard cock is pressing against his turgid erection and hardening by the second.

You're both breathing heavy when you break off the kiss. You nudge his mouth open just a little bit before inserting the circular gag toy you'd chosen and fastening it around his head. He appears more amused than surprised, that immensely smug, exceedingly attractive bastard, and he just bothers you even more.

And by “bothers”, you mean “arouses”.

“God's green garterbelt, Strider, you insufferable twit,” you pant at him, still pinning his body down with yours. “I've had it up to my neck with you and your terrible puns! You're awful, I mean it.”

With his mouth occupied, he just props himself up by his elbows and swaggles his eyebrows suggestively. You have had quite enough of his sass, thank you very much, and you frustratedly shove him back onto the bed, rolling your hips into his HARD to show that you mean BUSINESS, gosh confound it!

From the muffled moan he tries to work out around the gag, you figure he most likely got the point.

Finally satisfied that he was going to take this SERIOUSLY, you reach behind yourself for the lubricant and apply it to your own rear. It's cold, which makes your ass recoil as you hiss. Strider reaches up one of his hands (good lord, how did he get them out from under your knees?) to help you stretch out your entrance, but you swat it away before making the decision to tie up his hands so he can't interfere. He obliges, allowing you to bind him with bright blue silk, although not without a grunt of complaint.

“Oh, hush,” you scowl at him, though it really comes out as more of a pout. “You brought this down upon yourself.”

He looks somewhat irate, but also resigned. Satisfied, you shift about until you can comfortably reach your own anus, grinding on Dirk's lap in a manner that may or may not be accidental. Finally, you push two fingers into yourself, blatantly in Strider's line of vision, and begin stretching so you can take his cock without injuring yourself horribly. You know it's torture for him. That's why you're doing it.

He lets out this mutilated groan, distorted by the gag in his mouth. Normally, you don't use this particular toy (there's nothing quite like seeing a man as stoic as Mr. Strider go completely crazy, and go completely crazy over you) but it's twenty times better than listening to him make puns at you in between sexual activities. You are certain that, were he ungagged, he'd be talking about how he couldn't wait to see you start brouncing on his dick or some shit like that.

Oh god. No, stop. You refuse to begin making puns. That is a thing that you cannot allow to happen.

To distract yourself from the horrible punning, you shove the fingers into yourself more quickly, beginning to spread them in preparation. And golly, does that feel good-- stroking your own inner walls, feeling yourself clench around your digits. You breathe heavily, your erection finally risen full mast, as you reluctantly withdraw from yourself. As much as it pains you to stop, the whole point of this was not to be a one off. You'd like to extract a little vengeance on your boyfriend, yes, but you're not _that_ cruel.

You apply lubrication to his cock, pouring it in your hand and rubbing it a little to take the bite out of the cold fluid before taking a hold of his erection and jerking it with a little twist at the top, just how he likes it. Dirk shudders under you, his muscles flexing against the silk ribbon as if he intends to break it, and you smirk, glad that you have his understanding here.

You wipe your wet hand on the sheets (which will undoubtedly need washing after this ordeal regardless; you don't think it matters much) before aligning his dick with your entrance. You slowly lower your body onto his, reveling in the litany of muffled curses he is mumbling through his bound mouth.

You are JAKE ENGLISH, and you have successfully reigned in your best bro-cum-boyfriend DIRK STRIDER.

Keeping his shoulders pressed into the mattress by your hands, you continue to take his cock into your body, not stopping until you are almost completely seated onto him. You give yourself a moment's pause to adjust to something so large filling you, shifting your hips to make sure you are straddling him at the right angle. He makes a weird, strangled gasping sound from restraining his own gyrations to allow you to get settled as you do so. Of course, the next logical step after saddling up a newly tamed specimen is to ride it, like a cowboy on a wild, barely-tamed stallion.

You swirl your hips like a lasso, trapping Strider's erection in your ring of muscles. You lift your body just slightly and plunge down, his groin thrusting forth to meet your ass as you do. You continue to ride him, his rhythm pulling you into a world of beats composed in flesh; namely, the sound of your rump crashing on his thighs and the slapping of his balls between your buttocks. His hands are straining harder against the blue ribbon now, and you think you may have heard a few threads snap. That generally has no bearing on your rhythm, however, and you're far too busy focusing on the way his cock is pistoning in and out of your anal passage as the both of you copulate to really care about whether or not he breaks free of the bondage.

And then, with a muffled cry that lets you know he's close, he shifts his hips just slightly to the left, making you choke on your own breath. Holy tweedshitting twain, it's that _spot_ again. You continue to ride him vigorously as he bucks up underneath you like an award-winning Texan bull bronco, your eyes watering with pleasure. His are half-squinched, and barely meet with yours for a brief but tender glance.

Face flushed with exertion, the pressure in your dick becomes too much for you to handle. You take one of your hands off his shoulders and begin to jerk yourself, trying to maintain the rhythm of the thrusts between you. Dirk's breath is heavy, even through the gag, so heavy that you can even feel it. You are way beyond needing a towel right now, but you are determined to make sure this isn't a one-off. You clench yourself tighter around his erection, thrusting down harder, taking him in deeper...

And before you know it, he's coming, his face the very image of rhapsody as he moans something that bears very close resemblance to your name, muffled by the sphere in his mouth. His hips are still thrusting rapidly up into yours, riding out the orgasmic feeling, and you rub at your erection more vigorously.

Then, your vision is overcome by so many blank spots that you have to close your eyes. You practically scream Dirk's name, over and over, until “Dirk! Dirk! Dirk!” becomes “dirkdirkdirkohgodyesdirk” and then you come for the second time tonight.

Your bodies stiffen harshly against each other, and then you come down from peaking. There is something distinctly wet in your ass, you realize, and both of your stomachs are splattered with semen. Your gaze meets Dirk's and you just stare at each other lovingly for a while. Without breaking eye contact, you unbind his hands and, against your better judgment, reach up to unfasten his gag. He helps you off him, his flaccid dick falling out of your inner channel with a quiet squelch and an even quieter pop. Then, he sits up to kiss you, although you know his jaw is probably still sore.

God, you really adore this chap.

He breaks the kiss to attend to the cooling mess on your bodies, reaching for the wet wipes and tissues in your nightstand drawer. You clean each other, using the moist towelettes to wipe sweat and cum off each other's over-sensitized skin. You could swear he snickered when you washed his thighs, but you'll never tell him that-- he'd bring up your extremely unmanly giggles from when he cleaned your abs.

Finally clean enough to go to sleep, the both of you peel off the uppermost blanket (situations like these made it useful to keep two around at all times) and cuddle up together under the sheets, face-to-face.

“Hey, Jake,” he whispers in your ear, his warm breath tickling you ever so slightly.

“Hmmm?” you hum back sleepily, warm and sated from a wonderful round of lovemaking.

“I love bronly you.”

Oh dear mercy.

“Shut up, Dirk,” you huff, burying your visage in the crook of his neck. He's horrible.

“Hn,” he grunts in reply, nuzzling into the top of your head. The smug bastard.

“... fine. I love you too, you dolt.”

You fall asleep, contented and in your lover's arms.

**\---POST-SCRIPT---**

You are DIRK STRIDER, and you have just woken up after a long night. You are TIRED, but also SATED, HAPPY, and did we mention CUDDLED UP to your long-term best bro-cum-boyfriend, JAKE ENGLISH.

And, if psychology works its magic correctly, you will be able to give Jake a boner on command via association by using bro puns.

That was the plan. To give him a boner. Whenever you want to.

Your IRONYMETER goes up a few notches.


End file.
